


Bloody Twins

by Ayes



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayes/pseuds/Ayes
Summary: Robert Pattinson is a vampire, and nobody knows but her.





	Bloody Twins

Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,  
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.  
  
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force  
in which we merged and despaired.  
  
from _The Song of Despair_ by Pablo Neruda  
  
  
X  
  
Kristen Stewart knows a lot of things about her friend Robert that nobody else does. She's worked with him before New Moon, after all, and it's pretty widely known that she and Rob sought out each others company during Twilight. He knows that she hates pickles in her cheeseburgers, that sometimes she's still embarrassed by her parents. He's watched her cry and rubbed her shoulders when she's had a stupid fight with her boyfriend.  
  
And, again, she knows things about him. It's kind of hard to get to know the real Robert Pattinson, and everyone thinks they do, but Kristen sees the green in his eyes when he gets homesick and the scars on his knuckles from punching walls when no one's there to calm his tantrums. She knows what he looks like in the deepest and most innocent sleeps, mouth open and drool at the corner of his mouth.  
  
She knows his secret, too.  
  
It took months, but the clues were there. The way he disappeared after table readings in the bright California mornings, the way that he plucked her Ray Bans off of her forehead one day and refused to give them back. She's seen him dig into his birthday cake with an appreciative expression, but she also saw when he put it down again.  
  
And then there was the night in Washington that she found him in a steamed up car with a stranger and a needle. She'd screamed, cried, run home and torn through his shit. She'd found not drugs, but beakers of blood, and when she turned around to see him already leaning against the counters of his trailer and looking serious, she laughed despite her fear. She figured it out.  
  
Robert Pattinson is a vampire, and nobody knows but her.  
  
There was no doubting him once she believed it. He was tall and pale and beautiful, and she'd never met his parents or seen him try the method actor route on any other movie. It was brilliant, really, and after her fear passed they stayed up all night so he could explain.  
  
Kristen wasn't Bella and it took her a while to get used to the thought of vampires. Robert explained that they were few and far between, more human, more like cursed junkie souls than noble cold-skinned vegetarians. There was too much of a risk these days to be a mass murderer; CSI existed, and security cameras, and Robert didn't have any of Edward's superpowers. He bought blood on the black market and injected it into his empty veins; kept his body fresh and warm and the hunger out of his eyes. Sometimes the blood was the wrong temperature, or was dirty somehow, and he got sick. Once, he told her, he'd had leukemia for three days before his system assimilated all the blood and he needed more.  
  
Mostly, though, he managed to get it, and Kristen forgot pretty quickly that he was more dead than alive. They still laughed and played and read lines. His fingertips were dry and cool, but Kristen still buzzed a little bit each and every time they touched her.  
  
One day he tells her that he's going to do something terrible, and she's seized with some compulsion of love that's strong enough to make her nod, and ask him to wait.  
  
She's picked up weed before, acid and coke and mushrooms, but this is scarier than her friend Chris or any back alley. He takes her to a house that she'd never look twice at, and only his reluctance at having her in danger makes her pretend she's okay. There's an old man in a bed there, a sad and grim old man who she learns wants to die. Kristen doesn't want to, but she watches Rob do it, tries to understand the humanity, the ethics, even if they run so skewed and deep she isn't sure she can grasp them at all.  
  
Robert takes her for Chinese food but she can't eat it, and his flushed pink face turns to stone when she cries.  
  
"I'm sorry," she manages, but he shakes his head and pulls her into his lap.  
  
"No, I shouldn't have brought you."  
  
"I wanted to come," she argues, anger flaring up despite the fear his warmth gives her. "I needed to see."  
  
"Do you see?" She can't see his face when she's tucked into his neck so she pulls away to give him the truth, the no no no she doesn't understand why he's here despite how impossible it seems and how hard it gets and how lucky she is to have him here and warm no matter what it takes.  
  
But she doesn't open her mouth around any words before he kisses her and they're kissing and everything changes again.  
  
Days end and weeks pass. They sneak into each others' trailers and rooms and share sweet kisses and the what's-you-favorite questions that every couple does, at first. When he bites her it's by accident, just teeth grazing over her wrist when he kisses her everywhere good morning. It doesn't even break the skin, just skim it, and there's only blood when she squeezes the skin together. She can't even be sure it's from Robert, so she says nothing and only inspects it later, squeezing and peering for any sort of supernatural...ness. But it doesn't glow or hurt and there aren't three days of screaming pain, so she puts a Hello Kitty band-aid on it and forgets.  
  
It takes all week for the blood to drain from her face and for Kristen to get cold. She feels too warm in the strangest places, like the blood in her body is pooling in her clavicles and the small of her back and in the arches of her feet. A day after that, it's gone, and she doesn't feel warm anywhere.  
  
She cries when she realizes her fingertips are cold like they've been capped in snow, because now she'll never see him again.  
  
Kristen leaves so he won't blame her, that wonderful man of hers who is somehow empty. They haven't even told each other the words that make her pack her bags, but she loves him and he loves her and that makes saving him worth it.  
  
XX  
  
She can still imagine her heartbeat racing sometimes. She's living a cash existence, buying cold disgusting blood from the butchers and her needles from a pharmaceutical supply with the prescription she had to learn how to forge. She thinks she maybe did a crappy job, but she tells herself _forget it Kristen, it's Chinatown_ , and wishes that she could eat an eggroll one more time.  
  
Of course, Robertfinds her. It takes about a week and a half before she looks downone day and sees his feet, his shoes as worn and familiar to her as they are to his toes.  
  
"As if you could outrun me," he says mildly.  
  
Without thinking, she moves up and in to kiss him, and he kisses her first, their chests pressing together and her neck straining up. Kristen puts her arms around him, holding him like he is delicate and she is gentle, both of those lies these days.  
  
His hands roam her shoulders, sure and huge as herds of elephants. She's wasting blood on blushing, and the tip of her nose presses into the side of his cheek when he tips his head to open their mouths into each other. Kissing with a hint of copper, with a ghost hint of breaths hitching and his eyes cracking open.  
  
Rob touches her neck. He look windswept and wild. He looks sad, and he looks glad to have found her. They kiss languidly but firmly, as if they are both convincing each other that they are sorry. Kristen is. Rob might just be acting, because how he looks doesn't mean much when he's so very good at his job. His arms go around her; they pull her in. Kristen gives up thinking and wraps her arms around his shoulders, then slides a hand down to touch his face and stubble and neck. The soft tips of his hair. He tilts her again, hugs her against him and _jesus_ , they are making out in a slow motion in the middle of a parking lot. He holds the back of her head now and pulls her firmly into the minute space between them until there's no more room to do anything but kiss him back and kiss him back and kiss him and it takes three or four tries to break away.  
  
XXX  
  
Something goes horribly wrong in a hospital and they kill three people with bags of blood hanging by their beds in the ICU. They're too quick and panicked to stick around and get caught, but the alarms are blaring as they slide down the parking garage's hill and back into darkness.  
  
It's cold and the dirt they are running on is silty and dark, they can't get much traction, this is how people get caught doing things they shouldn't be doing and she knows it.  
  
Neither of them are imagining the gunshots. Kristen wishes she was, and thinks she does at first, but there's a loud noise and a weakness now in Robert's arm, and his face twists as their stolen blood leaks out of the exit wound.  
  
She wonders, for the first time, if they are monsters.  
  
What's that disease called, though, hybristophilia? A word for something that shouldn't exist, for sexual attraction to performers of gruesome crimes. Bonnie and Clyde syndrome, they call it. And Rob is a mass murderer now, isn't he? He's been doing this longer than she has, and she knows he's probably made mistakes before.  
  
And she still wants him.  
  
She wants him, is it wrong? Oh, but he was mesmerizing, when he crouched on the floor later, ripping the bags open and offering her his bloodstained fingers when she hesitates, to lick off. His fingers taste tangy and metallic and like nothing underneath that. And she wants him. Certainly it has something to do with the way that he looks licking his red lips, teeth too sharp but hidden away... the way everything bad about him was hidden and she didn't know how much more there was to find out.  
  
"I'll never have children," she guesses, and he nods, kisses her throat when the blood bag is empty between them. "I'm never going to feel warm again." He shakes his head. "I'm going to have to lie. For the rest of my life. To everyone I love."  
  
"Not everyone," he says. Kristen stares. It's not about whether or not she loves him; it's too late for that one. It's really more about whether or not she's admitted it, and she hasn't, but he knows.  
  
He adds, "I love you too," and they fuck like the world is about to end.  
  
XXXX  
  
Robert is fifty years dead but he is sweet and she is used to him now. She coats her throat in blackish type A, type O, keeps them in her family's refrigerator only when her mom is out of town. She coats her throat in heavy things until she has trouble swallowing Robert's words sometimes, and even his smiles look like lies when he comes to see her. They're too easy, too simple when nothing else about him is.  
  
Or has been or will be.  
  
"Do you love me because you turned me?" she asks, when they lay together on her sage-and-thyme bedspread, his head on her stomach and her fingers in his hair. "Killed me, I mean."  
  
His fingernails are bitten and ripping and they must hurt when he touches things; it must hurt to touch her, like when they checked into a hotel and pretended to be other people, living another life in a town without a movie theater, all so they could take a life somewhere that a widow wanted to be taken. She found blood on her skin after he held her later - too tight.  
  
"I love you because you're everything I asked for," he breathed, offended and filling with grey shades of Edward "The moments I've been waiting for since before you were born."  
  
"Because I'll drink blood for you." Her stomach is in a bitter twist these days, and it almost feels like she still gets her period, is a woman, instead of this _stupid dead thing_. "I wish I'd signed on to a fucking werewolf movie." Kristen liked dogs; being a dog wouldn't be bad. And now she reviews her thoughts, and decides she's going crazy.  
  
She's hurt Robert's feelings. His eyes are wet and hurt and hate. He's just fed, so they're _too_ wet, but so is Kristen. "Fuck you," he murmurs sadly, and she digs her fingers through his hair.  
  
"Yes," she agrees, pulling him into the V of her legs.  
  
Bonnie and Clyde, fucking in their car as the cops rope off their last victims, miles down the road.  
  
The dark fleshy leaves on the bank of the lawn, tangled in the grass.


End file.
